


Convenient People

by blythechild



Series: Gift Stories 2012 [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Adventure, Developing Relationship, F/M, Gambling, Hotels, Male-Female Friendship, Realization, Roleplay, Romantic Friendship, Secret Identity, Secrets, Sexual Content, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While spending a weekend in Atlantic City, Reid bumps into Prentiss as she indulges in one of her "Sin To Win" weekends. </p><p> </p><p>This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This scene was based on a prompt from dionne_2k (on livejournal).

Thirty-four hours in and he still felt good - fresh, sharp… It had been ages since he had given his game this much focus, but the table was good, the players competent, and he still felt remarkably controlled. And he was up almost forty grand. He knew himself well enough to realize that a moment would present itself and he would know that he had to quit. This wasn’t really a game - it was a skill - and a truly skilled practitioner always knew when to walk away.

The players at the table came and went. He didn’t invest too much time in their faces - he was busy counting cards, plugging the fluctuating variables into his mental calculations. Most people had pretty obvious tells and he didn’t play at the level that demanded profiling the opponent. He had given up on _that_ level of play nineteen hours ago when he calculated that his focus had been reduced by 39%. 

He also didn’t invest because he was playing as someone else. It was an entertainment that he had developed over time, partially because he was tired of facing down assumptions made about him across the felt based on his appearance. If looks were that important for a successful cold read, then he’d up the ante by playing as someone else altogether. In the end, it was easier than he had anticipated. He’d tried different looks over the years, but he found that he confused the most players when he adopted their expected tropes: a dark tailored suit, well-groomed appearance, and a taciturn demeanor. When he looked like every other mid-range player with hopes of fame on the World Poker Tour, he found that he became almost invisible. When they all thought that they had his number, he did some of his best work – just like in the rest of his life.

He became dimly aware that a new player had arrived at the table. People jostled in their seats, hands became newly guarded, and he saw the dealer sit up a bit straighter.

“Hey babe, wanna bet for me?”

“Sir, please don’t have someone else handle your chips. If you do not wish to bet yourself, I can do it for you.” The dealer sounded bored - another inexperienced player in need of schooling.

“She’s with me - she can handle my chips.”

From the corner of his eye he saw the pale fingers move a stack of chips into play over the table felt. Black nail lacquer… no, _aubergine_ … a bit Goth for this crowd.

“I’m sorry, sir - house rules.”

“C’mon, lighten up, buddy...”

Reid sighed and spoke before the dealer had a chance to. “He’s correct. Not only is it a standard casino house rule that no one save the players and dealer handle bets, it is actually an Atlantic City statute that you can be fined up to $10,000 for violating, so do us all a favor and keep your girlfriend ou-”

He looked up into the pissed off face of his new opponent and the implacable beauty that was his mildly shocked date: Emily Prentiss. 

_No way._

Reid cleared his throat and remembered who he was supposed to be this weekend. Based on the expensively demure cocktail dress that outlined Prentiss’s silhouette, he might not be the only one pretending to be another version of themselves.

“Pardon me… as I was saying - keep your girlfriend out of it, no matter how charming and well-intentioned she may be.”

Prentiss kept her cool; only a practiced eye would see that she was quietly freaking out. He didn’t have time to puzzle that out before her date threw down the typical Alpha Male card.

“You can’t talk to me like that.”

“He just did.” Prentiss murmured.

“He’s also right, sir.” The dealer chimed in, looking more excited than he had throughout his whole shift.

“And that’s more words than Slim’s uttered in the last eight hours.” A sexagenarian with an improbable Stetson, a Jersey accent, and a predilection for pursuing a straight at any opportunity chuckled through his cigar smoke. “Better listen when a quiet man speaks, boy.”

“I don’t care if he owns the joint,” Prentiss’s date stepped closer to Reid trying to lord all of his six feet, three inch height over him. “He should mind his own damned business.”

Reid tossed his small blind bet into the center and pushed away from the table. He was out - the table would be useless after this kerfuffle anyway. He stood and leisurely straightened his tie, then turned to face Prentiss’s date. It amused him that he matched the man’s height as he stood, thus nullifying the guy’s perceived advantage.

“I meant no disrespect towards your date…”

“Lola.” She interrupted and offered her hand.

“Lola.” He held it and lightly brushed his fingers over hers. “A pleasure. You would invigorate any room that you entered. My name’s Steve and I apologize if I offended you.”

“You didn’t.” She smiled.

“Hey! Who gives a crap about whether you offended _her_? I’m the one that you’re trying to school in order to get over, pencil neck.” Alpha Male inserted his face between Reid and Prentiss.

“ _You_ ,” Reid turned to the Alpha Male. “I’m happy to offend. In fact, having met you, I wouldn’t consider my trip to Atlantic City complete without doing so. As for the schooling - whether I pointed out your blatant ignorance of basic poker etiquette, or waited to use your poorly-managed rage issues to slowly bilk you out of all your money at the table, you would have been shown up for the mediocre player that you are. This way, you can still walk away with cash in your wallet.”

“Hot damn, Slim…” Stetson nodded approvingly.

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you…”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Prentiss turned towards her date. “He’s leaving. Maybe we should too - lesson learned.”

“I’m not leaving. I came here to play poker.”

“I thought that we came here for a drink.” Prentiss gave her date a look that could have killed a weaker man.

“Whatever.” Her date huffed and planted himself in a vacant chair at the table.

“Pardon me for being forward, Lola,” Reid placed his hand lightly on her arm. “But I’d be happy to buy you a drink.”

He impressed himself with that move. He hadn’t thought about it before doing it – he just _acted_. His hand slid down her arm and held her hand once again. Raising an eyebrow, Reid nodded towards a bar past the gaming tables and smiled. He couldn’t quite believe that he had done any of it until he convinced himself that he was just deeply immersed in his ‘character’ for the evening. Prentiss turned and stared at him for a long moment. Then her expression changed into something flirty and mischievous - a look that he had never seen on her before.

“Okay, Steve, you’re on.”

Reid covered the strange shiver that came over him by looking back to the dealer and clearing his throat.

“Cash me out, please. Send the total to my room.”

“Certainly sir.” 

The dealer smirked and then looked directly at Alpha Male. That guy wasn’t going to win a single hand at that table until the shift changed and he was too stubborn to see it. Reid made a mental note to leave a tip for the dealer with the concierge. He looked back at Prentiss, offered his arm, and tried not to trip over his own feet as she curled herself into his side.

“Loser.” Alpha Male muttered.

“Man, I don’t know how they define that term where you come from,” Stetson chuckled. “But that guy just walked outta here with your girl and $42,000. I think it’s safe to say that he’s the coolest customer in this place.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was meant to be a short gift drabble but I ended up writing a lot more beyond the content posted in the first chapter. Instead of trying to recycle the ideas into a different story down the line, I continued writing this story until I felt it was done. It went in some odd directions but if you've come back to revisit it, I hope that you enjoy chapters 2 through 10. Sometimes you just have to see things through to the bitter end...

“Well, that was exciting…”

Reid accompanied Prentiss to the quieter in-house casino bar and waved the bartender over. He withdrew his hand from where it held her arm so that she wouldn’t feel the low-level shaking that had overtaken him.

“I’m sorry that I was so rude to your boyfriend…” He started, not sure how to frame the conversation.

“He’s not my boyfriend - I just met him. And he deserved it. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Well, I’m sorry anyway. That kind of ingratitude always bothers me. You deserve better.”

“How do you know what I deserve? We’ve only just met, Steve.”

Reid looked at her closely. She gave him a guileless expression in return that instantly confused him. Why was she persisting with this ‘stranger’ ruse? No one from the poker table had followed them to the bar… 

“Call it a hunch.” He said carefully. “I know things about people.”

“Oh yeah?” She laughed a little but it seemed forced. “So what can you tell about me?”

“Well, _Lola_ ,” Reid took a deep breath. “You’re an independent woman with a sense of adventure which is why you took a chance on that troglodyte at the poker table because he offered the allure of the unknown but was also easily readable and probably thirty I.Q. points dumber than you, so you could still handle yourself if he got out of control. Unfortunately, you also want a prospective partner to be considerate of your needs, which is why you’re here with me, and not back at the table with him. I don’t think that you have considered the inherent paradox of trying to establish equality with a complete stranger whose primary allure is that of mysterious unpredictability. It seems like a doomed paradigm, really.”

“Huh.”

Prentiss slouched against the bar a little and looked away from him. A sort of worn expression coloured her face and he realized that he had just profiled her in a very Reid-like way. It occurred to him that perhaps she kept up the ‘stranger’ fiction because she didn’t want to be herself for a little while. And there he was, in the middle of her getaway, being the person he always was. He sighed and inwardly kicked himself for being so literal. He could be remarkably un-fun at times. He made a snap decision and then straightened his shoulders and leaned towards her.

“But who cares about all of that.” He waved a hand dismissively and smiled when she turned back to him in surprise. “Why don’t _you_ tell me about you, Lola? What brings you to Atlantic City? You’re clearly a gambler… but I suspect that there’s much more to you than that.”

She smiled slowly, coyly, and it warmed him. Their drinks arrived and she clinked her glass against his in an unspoken toast.

“I’m just here for a little fun. Like you said - a little adventure. My friend, Penelope, calls these little trips of mine ‘Sin To Win’ vacations.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“One can only hope.” She smiled at him over the rim of her Manhattan. “My day job’s pretty boring. A girl needs a little spice in her life…”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an office manager for a financial firm in D.C.”

“My, that does sound dull.”

“It’s the dullest thing I can imagine. What about you, Steve? Are you a professional gambler? A hitman? A Wall Street tycoon?”

“I sell couch insurance.”

“Couch insurance?” Prentiss nearly choked as she tried to swallow around her chuckle.

“Yep. I travel all over the Midwest selling policies. There are a lot of couches out there having a lot of unsavory things done to them - it’s a growth industry.” Reid nodded and watched Prentiss from the corner of his eye as she tried to stifle another giggle.

“So, what are you doing here? Selling some sort of group casino couch policy?”

“I like to gamble.” He said simply, fixing her with a stare that was aiming for sophisticated. “And I’m good at it.”

He was still trembling but the smile she offered up at his words went a long way to settling him. 

“I bet you are.” She said softly and sipped her drink.

“Well, at any rate, I come here a few times a year to unwind, to forget about the crush of obligations in real life.” He was tracing knots in the wooden bartop with a finger and then caught himself. He’d have to try harder if he was going to pull off ‘Steve’ with her. “Sometimes you just need an excuse to be someone else for a while, ya know?”

“I do.” She looked at him strangely. “I tell my friends that I take these vacations to get away, but sometimes I feel as though I’m escaping to… to a more convenient version of myself. Someone with fewer concerns… less baggage, maybe. Does that sound weird to you?”

“‘Weird’ is where I live, Lola. I’m an insurance salesman - you wouldn’t believe what people tell me.” 

That part was true. People had a tendency to confess to him that he never really understood. Perhaps it was something in his face, his manner - something inherently non-threatening. Sometimes he wished that he were ‘dangerous’, and then it occurred to him that tonight - here with her - he _could_ be. He was Steve tonight, and though he hadn’t really fleshed out the identity of ‘Steve the gambler’, he _could_ be the best parts of himself and the parts that he’d always wanted to be as well. Surely he could pull that off for one night… and with her.

“Lola,” He leaned into her, confident and conspiratorial. “Forgive my presumption, since we’ve only just met… but, would you care to have an adventure with me tonight? This town has plenty to surprise and shock, if you know where to look for it.”

“And you do?”

“Yes. If you have a taste for less conventional fare, and can place your trust in a convenient stranger…” He held out his hand to her, the edge of it lightly brushing her bare arm as it did so. “It would be my pleasure to show them to you.”

The look of surprise on her face made him a little uneasy until a blush replaced it as she ducked her head to the side and down. Now, he was surprised; he didn’t imagine that he could unsettle Emily Prentiss, and was quietly proud that he had done so. 

“Show what to you?”

They both turned at the voice and saw Alpha Male frowning behind Prentiss’s right shoulder.

“You again.” Reid mumbled.

“Quiet.” Alpha Male pointed a finger in his direction. “I’ll deal with you in a sec, pencil-neck.”

“My neck is considerably wider than any standard pencil, though not wide enough to match the veritable oak stump upon which _your_ head rests.”

Alpha Male gave Reid a cold stare but was distracted from anything further by Prentiss’s low chuckle. “Lola, what gives? Come back to the table - you’re embarrassing me.”

“I doubt that, Evan. Besides, as much as it would please me to become your adornment for the evening,” A wide, sarcastic grin lit Prentiss from ear to ear, though it was lost on Evan. “I have received a better offer.”

Prentiss took Reid’s hand, and though he was momentarily amazed by it, he quickly moved to her side and acted the part of gentleman escort.

“Lola,” Evan growled. “You leave the party with the man who brought you. Not the one who offers you the best time… or the most money.”

Evan waited for his insult to bear fruit, but Reid just pulled Prentiss gently towards the main entrance instead. Though his grip was firm, his thumb stroked hers lightly hoping to soothe the anger that he could see settling in the corners of her eyes. It was hard for Reid to imagine what attracted Prentiss to this man in the first place. He thought about asking her why, as _Steve_.

In the end, she said nothing to Evan but instead reeled Reid in until their shoulders bumped and she covered their hands with her own.

“So, what’s first?” She whispered into his ear, making quite a show of sudden intimacy that he tried not to take literally.

“Are you hungry? I know a great place - you can get almost anything there, so long as it is unusual. They don’t serve any of this… tourist confectionary.” He made a wave towards the casino.

“Sounds perfect.” She cooed. “I am in your hands, Steve.”


	3. Chapter 3

He took her to an alleyway that would be perfect for a killing. She picked her way carefully amongst the soggy trash, uneven asphalt, and puddles, but didn’t mention it otherwise. He looked at her - her demure cocktail dress, her impossible high heels, the perfect make-up and hair - and suddenly had doubts about his plan. Here was a woman used to fine things, and all he could offer was _weird_. The fear of letting her down somehow, combined with laying himself open to mockery for his tastes, made him falter before he could stop himself. She pulled up beside him and stared.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.” He shook his head and told himself to be Steve. “Yes. It’s just here.”

He pointed towards a battered steel door with a broken step. A bare bulb illuminated a faded sign that read ‘Whitehair Meat Packing’.

“Pay no attention to the sign - it’s called something else now.”

He let her hand go in order to use both to haul open the heavy door. The moment he did, the alleyway reverberated with the sounds suddenly released into the night. The din was quite something, as it always was. Conversations in many languages, music, peals of laughter, squeals and clatters bounced off the walls and back at them again. He didn’t like loud places as a rule but always made an exception here. Here, the sounds of the world in all of its chaos were always welcome. He braced the door with his foot and guided her through with a free hand. He noted that her expression was the same that she wore at a new crime scene: guarded against the unknown.

The door slammed behind them and the noise became almost deafening. They were also plunged into darkness - he’d have to mention the lighting situation to the Signore again. He grabbed for her hand and felt her jump as they connected, but she squeezed it quickly as he pulled her close enough to yell in her ear.

“We go down, not up. Just follow me. And don’t worry - the volume will be more manageable once we get there.”

He led her carefully downstairs and then they walked towards another door that was bathed in a red light. He opened it, pulled Prentiss through and then shut it firmly, and mercifully the noise was cut in half. He turned back to her and smiled.

“The entrance serves the Teatro and the nightclub above. It’s a little daunting, isn’t it?”

“Like something out of Dante. Made me wish that I had my gun…” She mumbled, and then caught herself.

“C’mon…”

He tugged her hand and brought them both through a set of heavy velvet curtains to reveal a classic Vaudevillian theatre. The walls were a warm coloured stone that faded into chipped hand-painted frescos where they met the ceiling. An eight-piece band sat on the old stage playing lively jazz in tails and spats under the flickering footlights. Where the audience seating should have been were a collection of mismatched tables and vintage banquettes crammed with people in suits and feather boas, 50s pompadours and ridiculously long eyelashes. Someone dressed in a fox costume - complete with head - brushed past them and murmured apologies as his tail got in their way.

Reid watched as the scene unfolded for Prentiss. There was no way to disguise her look of shock. That was to be expected - it was everyone’s first instinct. But what he was really interested in was what she would follow it up with. He saw her turn as a flash of light caught her eye. She watched a silhouette dance with bouncing, disembodied lights behind a translucent screen to the right of the stage.

“That’s the fire dancer. She used to do it with real flames but the Atlantic City by-law commission frowned upon it.”

Prentiss turned to look at him. “What’s it for?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why does she do it? Why does she perform here?”

“It doesn’t have a purpose. She does it because it’s beautiful.” He looked at her and wondered if he had made a mistake. Perhaps he and Prentiss were members of two different species.

An exquisite note suddenly pierced the general din of the room and the diners became less animated as some of them looked up to the darkened ceiling.

“Ahh, Gloria’s in tonight!” Reid enthused. “Wonderful.”

Reid pointed upward as something moved through the shadows above. A woman miraculously swung into the spotlight at the top of the stage. She was perched on a trapeze swing, her red lips shaped in a perfect O as she sang. The dining room erupted in applause as she swung in and out of the stage shadows singing her delicate aria above the groove of the jazz band below her. No one seemed to bat an eye at her long blonde beard flowing as she moved.

“Is that…” Prentiss whispered in his ear.

“Yes, its real. And Gloria is very proud of it. She can go on for hours about singing and beard maintenance, so it might be best not to mention it if we run into her during one of her breaks.”

Prentiss gave him an unreadable look. “Steve, what is this place?”

“Professore!”

A robust man in a tuxedo with an impressive handlebar moustache torpedoed into Reid and lifted him clear off the floor in a bear hug. Reid gave Prentiss a long-suffering eyeroll as he smiled and tried to catch his breath.

“It has been so long, Professore! I gave up all hope - _all hope_ \- of seeing you again. Such absences… it is no way to treat friends…”

“Oof! My apologies, Signore. My absence wasn’t on purpose…”

The Signore lowered Reid to the floor again and began to roughly manhandle him in a way that few could get away with. Reid saw Prentiss arch her eyebrows in surprise as she tried to hide a smile from him.

“But now you are here, among us again - we must celebrate! Come… you will want to sit in Marcella’s section, no?”

“Yes, as always, but this time…” Reid hesitated and then gestured to Prentiss. “I’ll require a table for two.”

“Oh my… che bellezza!” The Signore forgot all about Reid and instead swept up Prentiss’s hand and kissed it dramatically. “Welcome to Oscuro Teatro, signorina, where the beautiful and the strange hold each other tightly while dancing in the darkness. This is my establishment - my home - and you are most welcome in it.”

Prentiss smiled and greeted The Signore in Italian. His face dissolved into a higher level of delight as he began speaking to her rapidly in his native tongue. Reid watched as the conversation went back and forth, completely clueless as to its meaning but taking joy in how Prentiss slowly allowed herself to relax into her surroundings. Maybe this wouldn’t be disastrous after all… Eventually, The Signore turned back to Reid, face pink with amusement, and grabbed his hand.

“Hold onto this one, eh, Professore? Beauty, brains, and a wicked sense of humor… back in the old country, men went to war over women like her.”

“I can completely understand that impulse.” Reid watched as Prentiss laughed to cover a blush.

The Signore waddled through the crowd towards an empty banquette, acting as if _he_ was escorting Prentiss instead of Reid. He pulled out her chair and kissed her hand again once she was settled murmuring an endearment that Prentiss returned quietly. The Italian then turned to Reid and gave him another hug.

“Marcella will be with you shortly. Enjoy yourselves, and please, take time to linger, eh?” He slapped Reid on the cheek and then disappeared into the crowd again.

“Sorry.” Reid leaned across the table slightly. “He can be a bit over the top.”

“No, its fine. I like him… I like this whole place, actually…” She said it as if she had surprised herself. “Its very… convivial…”

“For such a strange place.” He added and watched her reaction.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not judging…”

“Of course you are - its impossible not to. It’s not ‘judging’ that we should seek to avoid, but the way that we close ourselves off to alien experiences as a result of our judgments. Everyone in here holds their own opinions - they’ve even looked at us and already decided a few things.” Reid gestured between them. “But if they live inside of those opinions and never bother to find out if they match up to reality, that’s a wasted opportunity and a shame. _That’s_ why I come here - because everyone is welcome and there are no barriers but those that you bring with you. Its like a free-flowing freak emporium.”

“Hey, who are you calling freak?”

A tall woman dressed in a 40s style summer dress appeared next to their table with her hands on her hips. Reid broke into a toothy grin at the sight as the woman swooped in to plant a wet kiss on his cheek. As she pulled away, Reid saw that Prentiss noticed her adam’s apple.

“Hi Marcella. You look stunning, as always.” 

“Thank you, honey. A girl does what she can…” Marcella caught sight of the lipstick that she left on Reid’s cheek and then immediately fished out a linen handkerchief to wipe it away. “Oh, _that_ won’t do at all, will it, darling?”

Reid let her do her thing and tried not to look embarrassed. Once Marcella appraised her work and nodded, Reid gestured to Prentiss. “This is Lola.”

“Lola.” Marcella held out a hand that dwarfed Prentiss’s, and gave her an appraising look. “Great name. Gorgeous dress.”

“Thanks. Love the Victory Rolls.” Prentiss pointed to Marcella’s hair. “I can never get the hang of those myself. How do you know Steve?”

“Steve?” Marcella looked bewildered and then turned to stare at Reid. “Umm, well, we met on the boardwalk many years ago and it was love at first sight. What about you?”

“We just met this evening.”

“Really.” Marcella was still staring at Reid and he was suddenly worried about what she’d do next. “Well, you must be special…”

“Why do you say that?” Prentiss was impossible to read.

“Because in all the years that he’s been coming to the Teatro, he’s never brought anyone with him, honey.”

Prentiss looked across the table at Reid and he didn’t have to look up to know that Marcella was doing the exact same thing. He busied his hands with the menu and wine list on the table.

“So, what looks good?” He mumbled.

“Oh, give me that.” Marcella snatched the menus away. “You know that The Signore is gonna whip up something special for you two… You’re always the easiest table I ever have when you come in, _Steve_. I never have to up sell or remember the specials…”

Reid laughed nervously. The band suddenly launched into a love song and a few couples began dancing in the aisles between tables. Marcella grabbed Reid’s wrist and nearly dragged him from his table.

“I adore this tune!” She grinned and then turned to Prentiss with an apology on her face. “You don’t mind if I steal him for a dance, do you?”

Marcella didn’t wait for an answer as she hauled Reid to a spot just out of earshot from his table.

“What are you doing?” He whispered.

“What are _you_ doing, honey? And who the hell is Steve?” Marcella twirled slowly and made it look as if Reid was leading.

“Look, she’s someone I work with and we met here by accident. We’re… sort of playing a game where we pretend to be different people. Strangers.”

“Kinky.”

“It’s not like that.”

Marcella gave him a dubious look but when he blushed her expression softened.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing here?”

Reid shook his head, no. Marcella sighed and pulled him a little closer. She was surprisingly graceful considering how tall she was.

“She’s special, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“She’d better be. And you’d better be smart about this game that you’re playing too. She looks like she could cut you wide open and you’d probably let her…

“She wouldn’t do that, Marcella.” Reid said quickly. “She’s one of us - I’m almost sure of it.”

“Hmmm, well…” Marcella moved her lips to hover just next to his ear as they glided between tables. “You’re gonna end up owing me a big tip, baby boy.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I just made her a lot more curious about you.” 

Marcella spun them so that Reid could see Prentiss weaving through the tables towards them. He felt Marcella squeeze his hand and whisper ‘good luck’ before Prentiss looked in her direction and asked to cut in. Marcella gave way with a wink and Prentiss slid into Reid’s arms as he tried hard to remember the steps that Marcella had breezed through without thinking. They made a few turns in silence; Prentiss’s breath brushing his neck as they moved, then she finally spoke.

“Marcella’s interesting.”

“What do you want to know? Just ask.”

“How did you really meet?”

“Just like she said: several years ago I was walking the boardwalk and found her sitting on the edge of one of the piers. She was Marc back then. Alone, broke, and starving, I bought her a meal and she told me her story - how her family disowned her because she wouldn’t deny who she was, the things she had done to survive, the hopelessness and confusion she felt about her future…”

Prentiss pulled back so that she could look at him. This time he didn’t try to look away.

“Did you…”

“No.” He said softly. “You don’t understand: I think of her as family. Like a long lost member of some ancient tribe that we both belong to.”

Reid laced his fingers through Prentiss’s and curled his lead hand into his chest between them.

“I had discovered the Teatro the year before and felt certain that The Signore would take Marcella under his wing. He understands the tribe thing - it’s why he works so hard to keep this place alive.”

Reid tightened his arm around Prentiss’s waist and drew her near. It wasn’t really a conscious decision but it felt important that she be close as he revealed this part of himself. Whether he was Steve or Spencer, he was still mostly a freak and he wanted her to see that he didn’t view that as something shameful.

“And look at her now.” He jutted his chin at Marcella who was chatting up the bartender. “She’s gorgeous. Not because of some archaic notion of transitory beauty, but because she is fully realized - completely herself as she was meant to be. And she is reveling in her life. We should all be so lucky.”

He watched Marcella for a moment and then looked back to find Prentiss staring at him in something akin to wonder. He hoped that that was a good sign and that she wouldn’t make a hasty retreat once he’d paid the check.

“I don’t think that I’ve ever met someone who sees the world quite like you do, Steve.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As it was intended.” She breathed against his neck and he tried not to shiver.

“I’m glad that you can appreciate that, and that you can appreciate this place. Not everyone can but I hoped that you might.”

They spun out the last few turns of their dance in silence and then Reid guided Prentiss back to their table as the band stepped it up into something more energetic. Gloria had stepped up her game too doing a lively rendition of Papageno’s aria as the band bounced through a big band standard. Reid caught Prentiss watching the bearded songstress glide to and fro overhead, and then she smiled.

“She really is quite wonderful.”

“Well, if you like this, there’s something else that I’d like to show you.” He hoped that his expression suggested mystery. “If you still have an appetite for the strange after dinner, that is…”

She tilted her head and smiled, giving him his mysterious look back to him in spades. “I’m sure that I can save room for further delights this evening.”

“Good.” He said quietly as his heart soared as high as Gloria.


	4. Chapter 4

It was just an abandoned warehouse space: broken windows, litter underfoot, and dusty equipment pushed against the walls to make room for the cage. It was the size of a standard boxing ring, but circular, ringed with heavy gage wire that rose twelve feet around it. Event lamps lit the cage reducing everyone else in the warehouse to amorphous silhouettes undulating around it like predators circling a watering hole. Yells, catcalls and cries of betting swallowed them, silencing all but the most basic conversations.

At Reid’s side, he felt Prentiss’s tension and looked to see her eyeing those around her with a profiler’s stare. He knew that she saw what he saw the first time that he’d ever come here: the hooded glances, fingers flicking in anticipation, the suppressed energy of the high to come - the denial of it’s inevitable disappointment… He pulled her close and whispered in her ear.

“Gambling is just like any other addiction. The physical need is just as great as the one for the next drink or the next hit.”

She looked at him but said nothing. Prentiss’s usual sharpness broke through her mask but she had the good manners to keep the questions that she wanted to ask to herself. He realized that he had scared her for the first time this evening and found himself trying to create an explanation that would ease her without breaking the delicate fiction that they had built together.

“Not every addict responds to addictive stimuli in the same way - everyone has a preference. Gambling is just business to me. I don’t get any pleasure from money.”

Her expression changed again, but he knew that he was still talking to Prentiss, not Lola. She leaned in closer and hesitated. “What is _your_ preference?”

He looked away, to the lit cage. She’d never asked him about it after that first time so many years ago. But here she was, being as direct as she’d ever been about it and his first response was _why not - after tonight, we’ll never speak of these events again_ … His eyes flicked from one desperate and elated face to another, and then he looked back to her and just let it go.

“Oblivion.” He whispered.

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth as if to say something but then thought better of it. Then he felt her side, suddenly warmer against his own and looked down to see her hand tracing down the arm of his suit until she found his hand and wrapped hers around it. When he looked back up at her, Prentiss was gone again and Lola in her place, staring with trepidation at the ring and the crowd.

“So, explain this to me.” She arched herself a little as the fighters entered the cage and were locked in. “I take it that this won’t be a typical boxing match.”

“You’re right. This is more like street fighting - there are very few rules and no referees in the ring. The rounds are two minutes each and the fight continues until one fighter goes down, no matter how many rounds that takes. There are no technical wins or ties; the last fighter standing is the winner. Refs only intercede if there is the risk of someone getting killed.”

He rattled it all off nonchalantly and she raised her eyebrows at him.

“What?”

“It’s a bit brutal. You didn’t strike me as the blood sport type.”

He smiled slowly; she was going to enjoy this discovery.

“It’s instinctual. We’re fifty thousand years out of our caves but we haven’t lost our primal need to establish dominance through physical force. The civilizing dictates of organized society have told our intellects that it’s wrong… counterproductive… but we still _need_ it. We harness it through sports - make it safe and acceptable - and for some of us that’s enough. Hockey, football, rugby, even auto racing - we’re all hooked by the possibility of calamity, of the implied violence spilling over into uncontrolled chaos. Boxing’s just more honest about it than most.”

She gave him an unreadable look. He decided to keep going and pointed to the smaller opponent dancing around in the locked ring.

“See that guy?”

“The skinny one?”

“ _I’m_ skinny. That guy’s all muscle and will - there’s nothing unnecessary about him at all. He’s a nearly perfect fighter, not because of his technique, but because of his desire.”

She gave him a dubious look. A loud buzzer rang and suddenly the fighters were at each other. The smaller one came at the larger fighter without preamble and started landing large sweeping blows to his opponent’s body that made wet slapping noises over the roar of the crowd. The larger man backed away trying to protect his torso by clamping his elbows to his sides. He struck out with his knee and kicked high hitting the smaller fighter’s right kidney, but the smaller man just moved faster, grunting as he bounced.

“I saw him in a fight last year.” Reid leaned closer to Prentiss to be heard above the yelling and revised bidding. “He was up against a guy who was two weight classes larger than him, and he nearly killed the guy in under three rounds. He doesn’t save anything for the next round - he goes all out every second that he’s in the ring.”

He felt her eyes on him again, and knew that she saw the excitement that he felt for this man. The fighter’s absolute focus on what lay before him without judgment or morality of his actions was breathtakingly evolutionary. Here was the id made flesh and Reid had to admit that he envied the fighter a little, even if it was a brutal simplicity that he had fought against almost his whole life. When the fighter’s head snapped back from an unguarded blow, Reid felt as if he could almost taste the blood in his mouth.

“He fights like his entire existence depends on it.” Reid kept his eyes on the fighter as the crowd throbbed and boiled around them. “As if he might lose his life, his mate, his children, anything that he might value or possess if he loses this… Imagine how that must feel - how terrifying - and how it would feel to move through that and be victorious in the end…”

He looked back at her and found her focusing on the fight. Her eyes followed the fighters and her expression flickered between wincing and wonder. The crowd around them was moving like a sea and bodies began to knock into them as people forgot themselves in the frenzy. Prentiss pushed back against them, trying to keep herself steady in her high heels and keep her eyes on the fight. Reid suddenly pulled her into him and positioned himself at her back to buffer the crowd. His arms crossed her, holding her loosely by the wrists and pulled her into his chest as a fan in front began to mimic fighting moves recklessly. His mouth hovered next to her ear.

“Admit it: it’s intoxicating. On the surface, you’re repulsed. That’s okay - that’s your intellect doing its job. But underneath that there’s something else that’s old and dark and aroused that wants to be released. Look around you… everyone here feels it too…”

Her felt her wrists twist in his grip and instead of releasing her, he tightened his hands around her. She twisted again, this time with greater force and he wavered between clamping down on her or letting her go with an apology. She strained again but also moved back against him so that the length of him from waist to pecs was pressed into her. He held his breath and squeezed, tensing himself into a cage around her body. His head drooped as he lost himself in the moment and turned his face into the hair that hid her from him.

“I knew that you’d enjoy this…” He whispered, mostly to himself.

He felt her tense against him and he came back to himself releasing her hands and taking a half step back. Humiliation flared up like a forgotten, resented obligation and he started to stutter an apology when he saw why she had reacted. She was watching two men near the main entrance to the warehouse who weren’t focused on the fight. Reid’s instincts went on alert too as the two men scanned the audience. Then one of them reached up and touched his ear in a practiced move that they both recognized.

“Time to go.” He said and was suddenly moving towards the far exit.

“Yep.” She followed him grabbing the hand he held out behind him.

They sliced through the distracted crowd as one entity. Neither one of them was armed; so all they had were their instincts and training. It would usually be Prentiss leading but Reid knew the terrain so she held his hand firmly as much to confirm that she had his back as to be guided by him. He cursed himself for leaving his i.d. in his hotel room. One look at Prentiss’s dress suggested that she didn’t have her badge on her either. If they were caught, they’d be processed before they could assert enough authority to get out of it…

“This is the FBI. Every one in this warehouse is being held for questioning on the authority of a federal warrant. Anyone attempting to flee will be in violation of that warrant and charged with obstruction of justice.” 

The bullhorn echoed throughout the warehouse and in less time than it took to think the word ‘panic’ everyone started to head for the exits.

“Great. I wonder who came up with _that_ brilliant piece of tactical management…” Prentiss groaned as the crowd surged around them.

 _Shit_ , Reid thought. It would be one thing to be caught in a local sting and have to flex a little federal muscle to get out of it, but it was another to be messed up in a Bureau investigation into god knows what - illegal gaming, or organized crime maybe? Hotch might burst an artery on this one…

His hand yanked and suddenly Prentiss was gone. He turned and was immediately hit by half a dozen bodies all trying to reach the same exit that they were heading toward. He wrestled back against the crowd, dodging where he could, and straining to find her in the gloom of the warehouse. He was knocked again, this time hard enough to be spun forty-five degrees and he saw her within arms reach. He grabbed her and she turned, her fist raised to strike him and then moved towards him once she saw his face.

“Got knocked down. Lost a shoe.” She breathed against him as he tried to buffer them both from the bodies slamming into them.

“Lift your left leg.” He skimmed his hand down and flicked off her other shoe. “Now run. Don’t wait for me.”

He spun her towards the exit and pushed her ahead of him. They sprinted together but were quickly separated again by random collisions. It was inevitable. He kept his eye on her until he was bumped into another person who then turned around and slugged him hard enough to knock him to the floor. He gasped and saw stars for a second until the pain of being kicked and trampled forced him to get up and move - anywhere. 

In the background he heard the bullhorn again issuing threats and a few tactical orders for containment. He looked up - the door wasn’t far now but there were a lot of bodies trying to get through it. He heard glass breaking and saw shadows of people grappling through window frames to drop to the ground outside. He made a quick calculation and then ran towards one of the broken windows. He hoped that Prentiss had made it through the door. He hoped that he could find her again.

Reid came to a stop behind someone trying to lift themselves up to the broken window frame. Without thinking, he grabbed the guy’s legs and boosted him upwards. Once the man was perched in the window he turned and held out his hand to Reid. His surprise was short lived as he was vaulted upwards and then they both tumbled through the window to land in the long grass outside. He was suddenly on his feet again as someone murmured ‘thanks man’ and ran. He looked around him to find the door that he had missed and then followed suit.

It was raining and the grass was long. His dress shoes slipped and tangled in it causing him to pinwheel ungracefully until he stumbled to the doorway. People were popping out of it like a circus clown car. The light was dim and he didn’t recognize any faces as they passed. No one was lingering and he knew that he couldn’t either. He looked around and saw a few paths disappear into the growth around the warehouse - he wondered if Prentiss knew which way to head in order to hit the main road. He chose the path that he postulated was the quickest route and ran. Some people ran with him, and he passed a few who had stopped in confusion, but as he kept going, he found himself alone before long. The path had grown dark, overgrown with adolescent trees and untended crab grass. Ahead of him he saw a globe of light through the trees that could only be from a streetlamp. He swallowed the runner’s stitch in his side and sprinted for it only coming up short as something moved towards him from the undergrowth.

“Jesus, I didn’t know which path you’d take!” Her fingers dug into his arm.

“C’mon.” He breathed, linking their hands once again and pulling her towards the road.

They made it to the road and found it deserted. From the overgrowth behind them they heard muffled bullhorns and people barking orders, but on the main road there were no cruisers, no officers posted to catch escapees…

“Which way?” Prentiss stood close to him. Now that they had cleared the bushes, they were getting soaked with rain.

He jutted his chin and pulled her closer as they both walked north. He felt her trembling against him and was about to ask if she was all right when he caught a glimpse of her soaked and freezing in a ruined cocktail dress without shoes.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Lola…” He shrugged off his jacket and swung it around her shoulders. She looked at him, puzzled, and then started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are. Apologizing for all of this.”

“I don’t get it. I took you to an illegal fight club out in the boondocks that was subsequently raided by the feds who just narrowly missed arresting you. You should be running screaming into the night, not… laughing in the rain.” His chest ached a little as he said the last part, and in the end he found himself smiling at her.

She let go of his hand and looped her arm around his as they continued walking. 

“Have you ever seen _Date Night_?”

“Umm, I don’t think so.”

“Well, you should because it’s great. But _this_ date” She pointed for emphasis. “Has been even better.”

“Oh, I get it now,” He chuckled. “You’re clinically insane.”

“Maybe I’m just a bored office manager willing to take her thrills where she can find them.”

“Well, your alarming taste for adventure aside, I’m still sorry. I meant this to be a _little_ more sophisticated and a little less fraught with danger than it’s turned out to be. You deserve better.”

Prentiss stopped and let his arm slip out of hers. “That’s the second time you’ve said that this evening. How do you know what I deserve?”

Reid turned back to find Prentiss regarding him strangely. He suddenly felt very awkward and had to stifle the urge to rock on his feet and avoid her eyes. He forced himself to stare at her until the feeling passed. He didn’t know how long that took but he was sure that he had her complete attention when he spoke again.

“Maybe its just instinct. But I _know_ that I’m right.” 

Her head was angled in an unspoken question and her mouth hid the edge of a smile as if she was about to start laughing again. Then something changed: the amusement was gone. She clutched his soggy suit jacket around her with one hand and walked slowly towards him. She stretched out her other hand and let it hover above the opening his torn shirt made at his throat. He watched her face as she thought it through, waiting with a held breath to see if instinct would win out over common sense. He realized that in that moment she wasn’t playing Lola; the look was simply strange to him because he’d never seen Prentiss use it on anyone before. But he’d only been privy to a few sides of her. Until tonight, that is. His skin was damp and cool and itching to feel the fleeting tickle of her, so he took a step forward and her finger pressed into his suprasternal notch. 

She looked up at him as she laid her palm out across his neck. The warmth prickled the edges of where she ended and the rain began, and he shivered at the difference. His eyes flicked to her lips before he could stop them and he knew that she noticed. Her hand slid up the side of his neck as he moved forward and held her face with his fingertips. Their lips met softly, both cold and warm at the same time. He brushed her lip with the tip of his tongue - once, twice - as if worried that she’d find the request monstrous. She let him in and he clutched her to him by the lapels of his coat, afraid that he might lose her permission. He pushed into her, his mouth slipping against hers, alternating between the cold rain running over them and the warm breath that escaped when they broke apart. Part of him couldn’t believe that he’s summoned the confidence to _dare_ this, while another part of him thrilled at a gamble well played. When she grabbed his jaw and moaned into his mouth, he snapped out of his revelry and backed away. She held still in the rain, one arm slightly outstretched towards him looking baffled. His breath condensed in the cold night air like empty questions. He stared at her and realized that that’s all he had at that moment: half-formed, unspoken questions. Because the woman standing before him was definitely not Lola, and he didn’t feel like Steve…

An isolated siren blast made them both jump and they looked to see a state trooper cruiser gliding towards them. Prentiss moved towards Reid instantly curling into his side as his arm automatically wrapped around her shoulders. Without thinking, they both seemed to land on the same course of action.

“You folks alright?” The statey looked them over suspiciously. A shoeless woman. A man who had obviously been in a fight. On a deserted back road at night.

“Oh thank God! Thank _God!_ ” Prentiss announced in panicked tones, then looked back at Reid while clutching at him for dear life. “Honey, we’re gonna be okay…”

“Officer!” Reid did his best impression of complete terror. It wasn’t that hard. “There are people _shooting_ down there!”

“Where?” The statey sat up and glared at them.

“The warehouse on the other side of the hill… we met some people at a bar… in a casino…” Reid looked as if he was trying to recall the memory. He shook his head. “They told us about this happening after hours… but _they were shooting people!_ Everyone was running… Lola lost her shoes…”

“After hours?” The statey looked confused.

“We were rollin’, officer - we’re not gonna deny it, but we’re just tourists looking for a little adventure. We shouldn’t have to die because we made a bad call…” Prentiss urged.

“We just want to get back to our hotel and get outta here.” Reid was now clutching Prentiss in return, panic painted across his face. “Please help us.”

“The warehouse over the hill, you said?” The statey didn’t seem convinced until a gunshot cracked in the distance, easily heard over the heavy rain. A few others quickly followed it. Prentiss jumped and shrieked, startling both the statey and Reid at the same time. The statey looked at the road ahead, his suspicion newly focused and put the cruiser in drive.

“Wait! You can’t just leave us here…” Reid wailed.

“This road dumps out on AC’s main drag in a quarter mile. Just keep going that way… get outta here now.”

They both made noises of panic and protest as the cruiser rolled away and accelerated over the crest of the hill down to the warehouse. After he disappeared, Prentiss leaned against Reid and began to laugh with her whole body.

“We’re probably a little too good at that.” Reid grinned.

“I think that the contagious gunfire really saved our asses on that one.”

He looked at her then and discovered her staring at him, soaked to the skin, and beaming. He found himself confused. He was having a hard time figuring out his role in all of this, especially with the memory of her heat against his skin. Maybe he just wasn’t any good at this game. He had a limited capacity for deception and he’d probably used up his allotment for this trip. Plus, he was coming up on nearly forty hours without sleep… Her smile faded a little as he realized that he was staring.

“You okay?” She whispered, still curled into his side, which he found that he enjoyed no matter why she was doing it.

He nodded and continued to stare. She continued to allow it. 

“C’mon.” He murmured eventually. “Let’s get you somewhere safe and dry.”


	5. Chapter 5

They walked across the opulent foyer of Prentiss’s hotel like refugees from a war-torn country; heads held high, eyes defiant, unapologetic in their muddy and shredded clothes. Prentiss had managed the half-mile trek in her stocking feet and Reid was so soaked that what remained of his suit looked painted on. They stood dripping in front of the main desk as Prentiss patiently explained that she had lost her room key, and when the concierge handed her a replacement asking her if she was okay under his breath, she replied with a brilliant smile and a ‘couldn’t be better - how are you this evening?’. Reid smiled behind her and followed her to the elevators without a word.

They stood very close in the elevator but didn’t touch. Reid reveled in the warmth of her proximity and knew that it was only partially because he was drenched. He wanted an excuse to feel her, stare at her, get close enough to taste her on the air between them but their evening of playacting was coming to a close and he wasn’t sure if any of this had a life beyond Lola and Steve. He was surprised when the elevator went to the highest floor and Prentiss stepped out. These rooms were reserved for high rollers and VIPs. He raised an eyebrow at her as she smiled back at him.

“I’m a bit of a gambler too.”

He followed her until she stopped at a door and slid her keycard into the lock. The electronic buzz-click signaled the end of his adventure and a very real part of him deflated at the realization. She opened the door and turned to face him, her smile fading as she took in the look upon his face.

“What is it?”

“Goodnight, Lola. It was a pleasure.” He said stiffly.

She held his eyes with a serious stare that asked half a dozen questions of him. Eventually she settled on one. “You want to come in, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He said immediately. “Which is why I’m going to leave you here.”

_Because I don’t know if I’m Steve or Spencer right now._

“I’m asking you in.” She became quiet and still narrowing the focus of her intent entirely on him. It was dizzying and unnerving, and he knew that she was aware of the effect.

“I’ve been up for nearly forty hours now. My judgment is compromised.” He sighed.

“Your hotel is at the other end of the strip and there’s an apocalyptic rainstorm going on presently in case you missed it.”

“Lola…”

“ _Steve_ ,” She gave him a weird look that he was too tired to process. “Come in and get dry. Housekeeping keeps leaving new robes and towels - I’ve got so many now that I could probably build a fort out of them in the middle of the suite. You’d be doing me a favor by using a few.”

She reached out and took his hand, warmth zapping into him instantly like electricity.

“Just a little while longer.” She whispered and he moved as if by magic. Of all the entreaties she could’ve made, she managed to land upon the one that he desperately wanted as well. Just a little more time…

She led him inside and into the living area of her oversized suite. It had a breathtaking view of the strip from a full wall of windows. Atlantic City blinked and shined through the rain like spilled jewels, but the overall effect made him feel distant and cushioned from everything. He was still and sheltered and safe here high above the glistening chaos, and it was then that he realized just how tired he actually was. He heard her bare feet pad towards him across the carpet and turned just as she handed him some towels and a plush hotel robe.

“Here - take a stab at drying yourself off. I’m going to grab a quick shower to warm up a little. Make yourself at home: there’s food and drink behind the bar over there. Don’t worry - everything’s comped.”

“How did you manage that?” He smiled, impressed.

“I told you - I like to gamble some times.”

He had no doubt about that. She left him and he absently toweled his head until he could start to feel his scalp tingle from the abuse. Reid sat down on one of the ludicrously long couches in Prentiss’s living room and managed to get his shoes and socks off before a wave of exhaustion overtook him. He folded a towel under his head and stretched out. _I’ll just close my eyes for a minute…_

 

Things felt a little fuzzy as he became aware of a solid warmth pressing against him. He opened his eyes and found it hard to focus. Something was next to him very close to his face. He blinked and tried to shake off the lack of interest that tempted him with sleep again.

“You’re ruining this couch.” Her breath breezed across his cheek.

He turned his head and stared critically before snuggling back into the warmth that beckoned him.

“Its not one of mine. I hope that this hotel has incidental water damage coverage for their chattel…”

She laughed softly and he closed his eyes pressing himself closer to her. He felt so relaxed, so comfortable…

“You really are tired, aren’t you?” Did she sound… disappointed?

He mumbled and reached out for her grabbing handfuls of terry cloth and pulling her close. Shamelessly using his drowsiness to his advantage, Reid pressed his face into the hollow of Prentiss’s neck without consideration. Her skin was deliciously warm and smelled vaguely of hibiscus. A hand fell into his hair and slowly started to massage it. He let out a sound that was close to a purr and mumbled his thanks into her shoulder.

Reid couldn’t be certain how long they stayed like that, or if he faded into unconsciousness again, but it felt as if they lay together for hours. Her fingers kept their light, slow progress across his head, down his neck, and along his shoulder, and he repaid her by murmuring odd things into skin. The words didn’t seem to matter, just the feeling of her softness under his lips. He moved his mouth along her neck until he felt her pulse against his face, and the rhythm stirred something to the surface. He sank back down again and placed a slow, wet kiss along the base of her throat, and waited. Prentiss’s fingers stopped moving and instead dug into him. Something low and throaty rumbled from her chest and his body started to move before he made a conscious decision to let it. His lips found the underside of her jaw and left another slow kiss there. Her fingers pressed deeper and tried to pull him closer.

He moved then, searching for her mouth in the darkness as she struggled to find him. They met and he tasted the moan that he had only previously felt. Reid’s body spooled up, energized by instinct, knowing that he didn’t need his intellect for what was offered now. His brain was still drowsy, trying desperately to catch up and feeling the need to moderate the situation. But his hands didn’t wait, untying the belt of her robe between them and slipping inside to discover her. She gasped against his mouth as his fingers brushed the underside of her breasts. He breathed out a little unevenly at the discovery that the robe was the only thing standing between them.

“Too cold?” He murmured.

“No.” She pushed herself against him almost grinding into his hands. “You feel great.”

His brain told him that he should probably think this through, he should be asking all sorts of questions… this was _Prentiss_ , for chrissakes. There was no way that he was prepared for the consequences of this. Not in his current mental state. But his hands kept roaming, warming her nipples, exploring the dip of her back, brushing the curve of her hips… His mouth moved against hers, sucking and parting in frantic pulls as if he expected one of them to come to their senses and put an end to this madness at any moment. He became aware of the hushed silence in the hotel room, how it gathered around them and made everything fall away until all that was left was the sound of their lips and their breathing and the brush of fabric as they moved against each other along the couch. It was the kind of moment that convinced you that nothing mattered more than the space six inches in front of you and trying to collapse whatever occupied it into your body. _Oblivion._ His limbic system told him to take her or to die in the effort of trying, that both of these options were completely acceptable. His cerebral cortex told him to stop, that this feeling was temporary… Her fingers scraped at his shirt attempting to undo the buttons that still clung damply to his body. It was a struggle and he quickly brushed her hands away.

“No.” He breathed into her mouth, addressing his bitchy intellect rather than her. “Just need to hear her come.”

Prentiss made a confused noise against him but he ignored it and rolled her onto her back. One hand flipped her robe open. He was momentarily sad that the room was so dark that he couldn’t really appreciate what was before him. But it was a fleeting loss as his hand traveled south and she grabbed his wrist directing him to where she wanted him to be. His fingertips slipped slowly around her - outlining, exploring, stroking - while she breathed in staccato gasps beneath him. That sound alone made him tight all over, and he found himself ridiculously trying to ease the feeling by grinding against her thigh. Her other hand snaked down between them and tried to squeeze him through the damp layers of his dress pants. Again he brushed her away, and again she made a confused noise.

“Don’t worry about that.” He pressed his lips into her abdomen. “It’ll take care of itself.”

“What?”

Her concern was completely cut off as he sank lower and flicked his tongue over her. He wasn’t entirely sure of his technique but her gasps gave him added confidence. The moans that she gave him when he moved deeper and with greater attention made him forget about ability and focus on how inflexible damp clothing could be. The throbbing had gone from anticipatory to painful in an instant and though he wanted to ignore it, his clothes were starting to feel like an out of control blood pressure cuff around him. He gripped himself as he outlined her with his tongue again. He tried to shift his pants but the fabric was clinging to him without mercy. A frustrated hiss escaped him and a moment later he felt her hands force him away as they went to work instead.

“Just let go.” She urged.

He braced himself above her with both hands and ground into her as she moved with him. He gave up on trying to feel or think about anything else. Just her hands. Her hands holding him, her hands helping, wanting to release him…

“Need… to hear it…” His voice burst from him in desperation, his hips sawing back and forth brutally.

“Hear what?”

“Name… say my name.”

She squeezed him so tightly that he almost saw stars. The pain was so keenly brilliant that when she relaxed her grip, the pleasure he felt from the sudden change made him mad for the discomfort again. He pushed into her grip again and again, faster and harder, until it was no longer possible to distinguish the pain from the pleasure.

“You mean… say, S-”

His back arched and he came with the combined ache and relief of someone who had passed through a horrible accident. He made a mental note to never linger in damp clothing ever again, for any reason - he felt certain that he had learned all that he needed about chafing for one lifetime. Despite his relief, he was embarrassed - it wasn’t a very impressive display and he had been aiming for ‘impressive’ all evening long. It was a brutal reminder that he was more Spencer than Steve, and that there were some situations that you simply couldn’t bluff through. He wanted to give her so much; he wanted to be whatever she needed - if only for one night - and he couldn’t even manage that. In his shaky personal delirium, he had to admit that he’d had crazy expectations for this evening and that he had only succeeded in setting himself up to fail. He dropped his face onto her abdomen again and let out a long, exasperated groan.

“Sorry.” Prentiss whispered.

“Don’t be.” He mumbled, amazed at her apology. “Your assistance is greatly appreciated. Now… where were we?”

“We don’t… I mean its not… oh - _Oh_ …”

He sunk down into her again, determined to redeem his efforts, or at least the hope that he could temporarily dazzle her. She moaned and threaded her fingers into his hair, and he silently thanked her for her patience. He let himself fall into the sensation of her moving in rhythm _against_ the rhythm of his tongue. Dispensing with foreplay he did whatever made her buck under his mouth the most. He sucked and flicked, gripping her hips and angling her further under him as her long legs came to rest over his shoulders. She whimpered, and it grew more emphatic and urgent in direct proportion to the twist of her fingers in his hair. The whimpers became moans, and then the moans became syllables, but he couldn’t be sure that she was actually saying anything. It could’ve just been the ancient appreciation of animal pleasure born millennia before when the species first realized that there was more to sex than heat and friction. Reid knew that there was considerably more to it _now_ than that, but put that worrisome thought aside so that he could listen to her voice instead. He looked up and watched her body undulate to its own demands. Her hair was spayed out against the couch, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open and grasping at random expressions. She was painfully beautiful, like a Renaissance portrait held up as an example of perfection for generations to come. But now she was rendered in frenetic abandon that made her perfection less artful and more elemental somehow. He thought that she would never be more exquisite than in this moment, and _that’s_ when he realized how much trouble he was really in. It was remarkable to see her like this, but also crushing to remember that it would be just this one time, and while pretending to be other people.

Her hands abandoned his hair and gripped at the couch cushions until Reid could hear her nails tearing into the fabric from the effort. He swept his tongue across her and watched as her back arched off the sofa and she cried out. He was fascinated by how her body fought the release of energy that it so desperately wanted. He pulled his mouth away and used his fingers instead, leaning up so that he could watch her. Prentiss’s body reacted immediately and she looked at him, flushed and confused, asking for what he had taken away. Even in the darkness her expression struck him as startling. He was seeing another look that he’d never seen before, but it was Emily who was looking out at him.

“Please… don’t stop.” She sighed. 

_Just a little while longer._

He couldn’t breathe suddenly, so he just nodded. _Whatever you want, even if its only for tonight._ He settled between her thighs again, his hands reaching under to cradle her hips back into him, and let his tongue go wherever it wanted. Her body pitched and rolled against him, heels digging into his back for more grip. He drew a long, slow pull on her center and she seized around him. Her cry melted into something softer, happier, until all that remained was uneven breath in the silence of the room. Her body twitched in his hands as the tension dissipated by degrees and he tried to soothe the transition by kissing her inner thighs, the curve under her belly button, the center of her solar plexus… By the time he reached her face, she was still working on breathing, but her eyes were clear and they stared right through him. He leaned down and slowly kissed her mouth; her hand found his hair again and made the kiss last. When he pulled away, they stared at each other in a way that would quickly escalate to dangerous if one of them didn’t put a stop to it.

“See what I mean about couches?” He said, feeling slightly sick at the thought of throwing Steve between them when she was looking at him like that. “So many unsavory acts, so many uninsured sofas…”

She blinked a few times and then smiled, turning away from him. When she looked back, Lola was staring out from her eyes.

“I guess you’re right - it is a growth industry. Consider me educated.”

She chuckled and he moved to lie beside her but all he could focus on was how her tone had felt like a door closing on him.


	6. Chapter 6

He watched her sleep from the bedroom doorway in the early morning gloom and silently freaked out. Steve was gone. Somewhere between the moment when Prentiss led him to the bedroom, stripping him down and curling around him, and the time he woke her and took her until they were left breathless and tangled in the sheets, Reid’s alter ego had conveniently abandoned him. In truth, he was amazed that he had pulled off the scheme for as long as he had, but that didn’t ease the dread that he was hoping to avoid if he could _just pretend_ a little longer. Maybe until he reached the city limits or something. Basically, it already hurt to look at her.

_God, what a rube you are. You can’t fall in love overnight…_

But what if you could? What if he just had? He had to get out of there before he woke her up and told her everything that he’d ever wanted to tell another person and had been too afraid to try. He had to get on a plane back to his life before he explained to her how she might be his very favorite thing. It just wouldn’t end well. And he didn’t think that dignity was so overrated that he wouldn’t sneak away before she got up and began to analyze their adventure in the light of day. So, he left a stupid note on the bedside table from Steve (because he couldn’t stand the thought of her waking up to _nothing_ ), and took one long last look at her.

“Goodbye, Emily.” He whispered and then left the room.

Try as he might to compartmentalize the previous evening, she’d never really been Lola to him. There were just too many inconsistencies, too many confusing flashes when he couldn’t tell if she was pretending or not. Part of him hoped that she’d have some trouble with the memories as well - that she’d question his reactions and wonder… But they were both too controlled and professional to let that leak through at the Bureau. And what else was there, really?

He shut the room door softly and walked towards the elevators surrounded by the eerie silence unique to hotels in the early morning. He wouldn’t see another soul until he reached the lobby and, between her door and the street below, he felt like the last man standing. He had nothing to keep him company but his memories. The elevator doors closed and he smirked at his own melodramatic process. _You really do have a taste for oblivion._

He had to lighten up. He’d see her at work. They’d still be friends. He’d always have his memories. His mind flicked through a random selection of scenes from the previous evening until it landed on one that seemed more important than the rest. He and Prentiss were twisted around one another, straining and grasping in the dark, both trying to hold onto the anticipation for a moment longer. When it broke, and they fell into the pleasure of each other’s bodies, he heard her call out to him. But no matter how perfect his recall was or how many times he replayed the moment in his mind, he couldn’t make out if she called him Spencer or Steve.


	7. Chapter 7

Monday morning. He was in the office at the crack of dawn and he didn’t know why. Part of him was dreading seeing her again so maybe he was trying to acclimatize himself before she arrived. Since he was still recovering from sleep deprivation, he started mainlining coffee and by the time she strolled in at eight-thirty and gave him a casual hello he was so keyed up that he jumped out of his chair as if she had yelled ‘Gun!’ instead.

Smooth.

She stared at him for half a minute and then slowly raised her hand in a wave and tried again.

“Hey.”

“Hi… umm, hey. Sorry, I didn’t hear you coming up behind me.”

“Oh.”

She was still staring at him. His eyes began to flit around - his shoes, Anderson’s desk, the half dead ficus tree in the corner - anything to avoid looking at her _watching_ him.

“Are you okay?” She asked softly.

“Yeah. Fine. You? How was your weekend?”

_Dude! Really???_

It had just slipped out. He was desperately trying to act normally and hadn’t really thought about the content of his interaction before he’d said it. He always asked about her weekends, and she his, although that was before they’d actually shared one together… Prentiss blinked and then began sorting through some files left on her desk.

“It was good. I went to Atlantic City.”

“Oh. To gamble?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Yep. It was.”

Well, this was excruciating. He tried to come up with a safe conversational segue that would pull them both back onto a more familiar track when Prentiss took the whole situation in hand. 

“I think that I need some coffee if I’m going to keep up with you today.” She smiled and stood with an empty coffee mug in her grip. “I’d ask you if you wanted one too, but I think if you have any more it’ll cause some sort of violent form of mitosis and they’ll suddenly be two of you at your desk.”

He laughed in spite of his embarrassment. “Good one.”

“Yeah, I spent a minute on it.” She winked and headed towards the staff kitchen.

He watched her go and tried to think of ways to avoid acting like a twitchy nut job when she returned. Given his performance thus far, it was a damned miracle that he had managed to pull off Steve in Atlantic City. He looked around the bullpen. It was still early and there was almost no one around. He then looked down at his coffee mug and decided that he’d risk a caffeine overdose so that he could straighten all of this out before it got any more awkward. He marched towards the kitchen, working out his opening line in his mind, when he caught sight of Garcia turning the corner ahead of him and greeting Prentiss with an effusive hug. For reasons that Reid decided to label as ‘Monday morning weirdness’, seeing Garcia caused him to leap behind the partition of an unused cubicle. He discovered that it was the perfect stalker position from which to both see and hear things in the kitchen. 

“So how was your weekend?” Garcia waggled her eyebrows and elbowed Prentiss as she poured herself some coffee. “You look like the cat who ate the canary… _who_ did you eat, darling? Dish!”

“Yeah, I met someone.” Prentiss groaned half grudgingly, eyes rolling at Garcia’s squeal of excitement.

“And…”

“And, well, it wasn’t what I expected.”

“How so?”

“He wasn’t the type I usually go for.” Prentiss leaned against the kitchen counter and curled her coffee mug into her chest. “He was… kind, funny, gentlemanly, but also really unpredictable… just _different_ , ya know? Oh, and the things that he did with his tongue…”

Garcia giggled and leapt up and down in excitement while a blush scorched up Reid’s neck in his hiding spot.

“So, did you get his number? You’re going to see him again, right?”

Prentiss shrugged as the conspiratorial girl-excitement faded from her face.

“You _did_ get his number, right?”

“I didn’t even get his full name, Garcia. Besides, that’s not what happens on ‘Sin To Win’ weekends anyway…”

“But you like him, right? You really like him… you’re an FBI agent - I’m a hacker… we can find him, Em…”

Prentiss put her coffee down and gave Garcia another hug. “You’re awesome, you know that? You’re also a wicked influence. I’m not going to look for him, Garcia.”

“Why not?”

“Because when I go on these trips I become another person. I make up details; I hide the things about myself that I don’t like… I become _convenient_. It’s not really me. If I found him, I’d have to explain who I really am and that’s complicated and not so sexy. If I leave it as it is right now, it stays perfect.”

“Perfect and unreal.” Garcia mumbled. “Plus, if it wasn’t really you in Atlantic City with this Adonis over the weekend, then how come you’re still mooning over him?”

“I’m not ‘mooning’.”

“You totally are.” Garcia smirked and sipped from her fuchsia mug. “Your eyes are doing that googly thing that you do when you like someone…”

Reid strained to see Prentiss’s face from where he was. He was curious about this ‘googly’ thing.

“They are not!”

“They _are._ Face it, Emily, you’d like it if the fantasy became real this time. This one isn’t as disposable as you thought.”

“Stop it, Garcia. It’s done.” Prentiss sighed, not putting a lot of gumption behind her statement.

“Sometimes…” Garcia stepped forward and held Prentiss’s hand briefly. “You’re the saddest little girl that I know, honey.”

Prentiss just stared at her clearly at a loss for words.

“If you change your mind, Momma Pinkness will find your mystery man for you.”

Garcia left the kitchen and headed towards her tech cave. Reid shrunk behind the hidden partition as she passed. A few moments later, a composed Prentiss exited the kitchen and went back to her desk. Unless someone was fixated on her face, they would have missed the acceptance that made the lines around her eyes a little tighter. Reid waited until she was back at her desk before leaving his refuge. His brain was chattering wildly and his hands shook the half-empty coffee mug in their grip. He watched her as she stood before their combined desks and stared. After a moment, she looked expectantly around her. When whatever she hoped for failed to appear, she walked to her side of the desk, slid into her chair and started shuffling her files.

An instant later, a plan formed itself inside his head.


	8. Chapter 8

Prentiss’s cell phone buzzed in her pocket while she was at the market. She shuffled her purse and groceries to one hand and fished out her phone with the other. It was a text from an unknown caller.

_* Passing through D.C. unexpectedly on business. Would love to see you. - Steve *_

Her heartbeat stuttered for a moment. She had no clue what he was playing at now and she found herself equally excited and afraid to respond. She paid for her groceries and left the market quickly, locking herself in her car so that she could think over her next move in solitude. This was such a bad idea. He had been truly weird earlier at the office and it made her feel like she was waking up alone all over again, except this time it wasn’t just Reid who had walked out on her, it was their friendship. There were so many extremely well reasoned justifications for why she never invited her ‘Sin To Win’ conquests into her real life. There was only response that she could make and her fingers trembled over the keypad as she tried to find a polite way to express it.

_\-- 4893 Laughlin Square. Suite 614. Come by when you can. - Lola --_

She looked down at the sent message and wondered how _that_ happened.


	9. Chapter 9

He stood in the hallway outside her condo suite and waited for inspiration. Sending the text had been the easy part and now he had no clue how to do the next bit.

 _She wants you_ , he told himself.

_She wants STEVE. She wants mystery and sophistication and passion. You pulled it off for one night, but just barely. You can’t pretend forever._

_But it was me - partly, anyway. I did those things, not some figment of my imagination… and she knows that. She has to know that, right?_

He shuffled his feet and looked down at his ratty, grey sneakers. This is who he was: all Clark Kent with a slight hint of Superman when he really needed it. Lois Lane never really loved Clark; she just learned to accept him when she discovered the truth. He didn’t want that. He and Prentiss had known each other for years - if anything were going to happen, it would have by now.

His shoulders slumped and he drove his hands deeper into his pockets as he sighed at the inevitable truth. He swiveled on the ball of one foot and made up his mind to go. He’d bail and she’d never mention it because it had _nothing to do with them_. Just another asshole letting down a pretty girl with bad judgment. It happened all the time. He placed one foot in front of the other and found it remarkably easy to walk away. He stood in front of the elevator, waiting, and was suddenly overcome with anger. He swore, loudly - which shocked him - and then roughly resettled his messenger bag across his body as he marched back to the door he had abandoned.

He had never purposefully treated a woman like crap in his life, and he didn’t feel like trying it on for size now. He had made a choice and it was better to know than to wonder. Better to hear the words… right?

_Whatever, man. It’s your funeral._

He planted his feet in front of the door once again and took a deep breath as he knocked.

_Just be yourself - every little part of yourself, even if that includes a little Steve. Remember that you’re a gambler…_

The door swung open and Prentiss leaned against it and smiled at him.

“Steve.” She purred and his heart shriveled in his chest.

“Lola.” He mumbled as he ducked his head.

“I’m glad that you came. Please, come inside.”

He walked past her into the condo and removed his bag in one practiced swing over his head. As he lowered it, he saw that his sweater vest had a hole in the side seam. Perhaps his apartment had moths again. He fingered the loose strand of wool absently and then saw it in the context of his overall appearance: dress pants with worn patches from too much ironing, a vintage sweater vest with a pattern too dated to be considered ‘ironic’, sneakers that he wore because they were comfortable, not because they were ‘cool’… There were no vestiges of Steve here. Nothing about him in that moment suggested self-possession, or confidence, or the adventurer who had whisked a pretty woman off into the night without hesitation.

“Everything okay?”

She was looking at him, confused and a little concerned. It was how Emily would look at Spencer. He was a little relieved by it but it also dampened his mood further; his hopes really had been a little ridiculous. It was just one night, after all.

“Yeah.” He smiled as if he meant it. “Listen, perhaps I shouldn’t have texted you. It was presumptive and I wouldn’t want you to think that I was taking liberties on your character or anything. I was just thinking about you - that’s all.”

“No, it’s good that you did. I have been thinking about you too, and I think that I need to clear a few things up.”

_Well, there you go. And you said that you thought it was better to ‘hear the words’…_

She was standing next to him in the hallway, her head cocked slightly as if they were working through a troublesome profile together. She crossed her arms, then thought better of it, and let them fall to her sides instead as if she was unsure what to do with them. He would’ve found it amusing if he weren’t busy preparing himself for getting socked in the face with some cold, hard truth.

“I’ve got a secret.”

“Oh?”

“My name’s not really Lola.”

“Oh.”

Couldn’t they just dispense with this fiction already and get on with it? He didn’t enjoy the thought of her dragging this out.

“Yeah, and I’m not an office manager either.” She sighed and then rubbed her hands together as if she was trying to stay warm. “And… there’s someone else.”

He looked at her then and imagined that his shock and disappointment weren’t very well disguised. She watched him carefully, waiting to see how her news would settle over him but when he didn’t respond she continued, a little more hurried than before.

“The thing is that we’ve been friends for a while - this guy and me - but recently I saw another side to him. He’s always been interesting, you see… but now he has my attention.”

She stopped wringing her hands and was looking at him intently, as if she expected him to add something to the conversation. He couldn’t think past the stone that had settled in his throat, but as the moment stretched out into awkwardness, he found his voice and choked something out.

“I see.”

“Actually, I _really_ don’t think that you do.” Her stare became pointed and then she reached out and folded his hand in between hers. “In Atlantic City you pointed out the folly of looking for someone who could offer mystery as well as consideration, but it turns out that I knew someone like that already. Though perhaps his mysterious side was a bit too well hidden, since I missed it all of these years…”

He looked at their linked hands because he couldn’t look her in the eye. His breathing felt monstrous suddenly, as if he had been running for miles and his lungs were about to give out. He rubbed his thumb softly over hers to steady himself, just focusing on that pale circle that he traced over and over and over. In time, he felt her move closer so that if he just leaned forward a fraction more, he’d fall into her.

“Maybe this man’s mysterious aspect is just a small part of him.” He whispered. “Maybe you hope for too much from it. Maybe he’s always been just the man you thought he was.”

“You misunderstand me.” Her words breezed against his cheek and he shivered a little. “The mystery isn’t the important thing. It’s the ability to surprise, even after everything that we’ve experienced together. The acceptance of the unusual, the capacity for joy in the mundane, creating magic in everyday life… it’s the way he sees the world and then gives it back to others with wonder and reverence that most of us miss - _that’s_ what has captivated me about him.” 

Her hands gripped his tighter, and he noticed for the first time that they were shaking a little.

“He hasn’t suddenly changed. And I don’t want him to be somebody else… It’s me. _I’ve_ changed. I finally have a complete picture of him, and it makes me want to know as much about him as I can. Well, I’m hoping for that anyway.”

He still wasn’t looking at her but she had moved so close that he could feel the heat of her against him; he could see the sweep of her hair brushing his shoulder. They were still only connected by their hands, now lost in the shadowy valley between them. He hazarded a glance further up and landed on a small pendant that hung from a chain draped across her collarbones. It rocked back and forth as she breathed, held safely in the broad sea of her by a thin gold chain. He had an impulse to take the pendant in his mouth and pull her closer by that delicate strand. Maybe he’d just slip his tongue under it to touch the warm hollow in which it rested instead; he wondered what it might feel like to be that little piece of metal being possessed so completely by something that dominated from horizon to horizon. He needed to pull back a little and remember that this was just a beginning. He had a tendency to go all in too fast and while he could accept a loss like that while gambling, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to accept it here. He had to be more than the holes in his clothes and the scuffs on his shoes. _That’s_ what she saw in him, and by god if that wasn’t how he’d always wanted to be seen.

He moved towards her ever so slightly. Slowly, painstakingly he outlined the curve of her shoulder, the sweep of her neck and the line of her jaw with only his breath. She arched closer but he held his distance - close enough to be _felt_ but never close enough to touch. Her fingers twisted into his in a silent plea for something: a word, a sigh, a consummation… He swept past her lower lip quickly, avoiding the temptation that it presented, and kept going until he felt the tickle of her hair against his face. He moved in a little closer - feeling more than seeing - until he found himself hovering over his intended target. He felt her stretch herself a little, eager to hear whatever he had to say next.

“I wish you luck with this man. May he live up to your estimation of him. If he is worthy at all, he’d better do his damnedest to try.” He whispered in her ear. “I’m afraid that I have a secret as well…”

“Oh?” It was one worried syllable.

He pulled back to face her because now he _had_ to look at her. Her eyes were alert, watching him, waiting and wondering about his next move. A smile curved the edge of him that perhaps for the first time, she didn’t _know_ what to expect from him.

“My name isn’t really Steve.”

And when the smile broke across her face, erasing the hesitation there, he allowed himself to touch her. It might have been the gentlest kiss that he had ever given, or received, but he would always reflect on its tenderness being the perfect juxtaposition to the feelings that it held at bay.


	10. Epilogue

“One large non-fat peppermint mocha with three sweeteners and one pump of sugar-free vanilla syrup in a pink Hello Kitty traveler mug.”

Reid reverently placed the plastic mug, with the lid securely fastened, next to Garcia’s keyboard in her tech den. 

“It is a testament to how much I value our friendship that I am willing to parade around D.C. with a Hello Kitty mug in my hand at least three times a week.”

“You should be thanking me.” Garcia winked and reached for the mug. “This mug is turning you into a stud by proxy. It’s like guys carrying small dogs or holding onto their girlfriends’ purses - placing your masculinity in jeopardy is sexy as hell, Reid.”

“Oh, well _that’s_ good news then…” Reid rolled his eyes and removed another cup from his coffee tray. “Here, Prentiss, I got them to brew you up some Blue Jamaica Kona.”

“Really?” Prentiss smiled in her seat next to Garcia where they had been combing through victim emails and Facebook postings together. She wrapped her hands around the paper cup as if it were a holy relic. She pried the lid off and inhaled deeply. “You are the best, Reid. Seriously, you might even be an earthbound god or something…”

“Oh my god, you guys - it’s just coffee.” Garcia huffed while waving Prentiss in mid-slurp away from her technical gear.

“It’s not ‘just coffee’.” Reid and Prentiss said in unison while giving Garcia the evil stink-eye.

“It’s the combination to two rare strains of coffee bean from two remote areas with limited land suitable for coffee cultivation…” Reid began.

“It has low acidity and intense earthiness with hints of the fruits and flowers that grow in both places…” Prentiss was still savoring the aroma. With her eyes closed.

“The beans require less roasting time than other full-bodied varieties, thus allowing them to maintain a higher than average caffeine content,” Reid was grinning at Prentiss’s revelry. “Which you guys could definitely use if you are going to pull an all-nighter with this digital victimology search.”

“And because there’s absolutely no natural way that these two strains of beans could ever cross-pollinate, this stuff is expensive as hell.” Prentiss opened her eyes and took a long, loud slurp.

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Garcia wiggled her purple-painted fingernails in surrender. “It’s the CERN Supercollider of coffees… consider me schooled, people. You two are too much sometimes, ya know?”

Reid smiled and retrieved his other coffee tray. He still had more rounds to make. 

“Good luck with the data collation. Let me know if I can help.”

“Be gone, Dear Doctor. Us mere mortals can handle it.” Garcia smirked and then shooed him with the fluffy end of her pen.

“Thanks for doing a coffee run, Reid.” Prentiss held her cup close.

“Anything for you, Lola.” He smiled and then caught himself, as if remembering something that he had to do urgently, and then disappeared with the coffees.

“Did he just call you ‘Lola’?”

“Hmmm?”

“Prentiss.”

“Ummm, yeah. You know, like that song? _‘Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets…’_ ”

Garcia arched her eyebrows at Prentiss. “Since when has he had a pet name for you?”

“Oh c’mon, Penelope… we make fun of each other all the time. It’s cute.” Prentiss was making an effort to read the thirty messages that were on her screen.

“Cute isn’t the word I’d use. It’s more…” Garcia looked back at the door where Reid had been standing, and then twirled her chair around as she gripped the armrests of Prentiss’s seat. “Oh my god, its him!”

“Its who?”

“Atlantic City! _Reid_ was the guy from Atlantic City?! Wow, are you kidding me?!?”

“Keep your voice down, Garcia…” Prentiss’s eyes darted towards the open door.

“Holy shit! Reid? _Spencer_ Reid?”

“Yes, Spencer Reid. Reid and I.” Prentiss shushed her. “And stop saying it like that… like it’s so completely unfathomable.”

“Sorry… sorry.” Garcia tried to tamp down her exuberance but ended up grinning like a fiend instead. “You know that I just want my babies to be happy, right? It’s just… well, you gotta admit… you guys aren’t exactly an obvious match. Did you know that he was going to be there? I mean, how long has this been going on?”

Prentiss shook her head. “It wasn’t like that. We didn’t know that we’d be in the same city at the same time. We met accidentally and, you know, I sorta embrace a different identity when I go away, and well, he just sort of rolled with it.”

Prentiss sagged a little as the tension of revealing her secret passed. She smiled.

“We had the best time, Garcia. Honestly, I can’t remember having more fun…”

“Wow. That’s saying a lot.”

“Yes, it is. But, back here in the real world… well, it wasn’t quite so simple.”

Both women fell silent for a moment until it was broken as Garcia leaned forward in her chair.

“So? What’s it like?”

Prentiss shot her a look.

“I don’t want messy details or anything because… ewww, he’s like a brother to me. But, I’ve always sorta wondered what his personal life is like…”

“Well,” Prentiss sighed heavily. “It isn’t easy. Not at all. But it’s also never, _ever_ boring. He’s possibly the most infuriating, surprising, emotionally attractive man that I’ve been with. But he’s also oversensitive, clueless, and extremely stubborn. And then there’s the sex.”

Garcia cautiously quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Well, you know how he gets when he’s learning something new that _really_ interests him?”

“Oh.” Garcia whispered and then flushed a little. “Oh my.”

“ _Exactly._ ” Prentiss grinned and then averted her eyes before she began laughing. “It pretty much makes up for the boyfriend stuff that he just doesn’t get.”

“You just called Spencer Reid your ‘boyfriend’…” Garcia cooed.

Prentiss leaned back in her chair and held her coffee close. “Well, he is and he isn’t, ya know? It feels a lot more serious than ‘boyfriend’ to me but so long as we have to hide it, I don’t really know _what_ it is.”

It was Garcia’s turn to take a moment.

“Hotch would have an aneurysm if he knew.”

“Would he?” Prentiss tried to infuse the question with some genuine hope.

“Yeah. But after that burned off, I’d bet that he’d find a way to work it out… from a team perspective. You two are way too valuable to lose and you’ve been keeping it professional for… how long now?”

“It’ll be six months next Tuesday.”

“Six mon-” Garcia looked miffed. “Giiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrl, you got some details to flesh out here or so help me…”

“Okay, okay…” Prentiss reached out and tried to grab a flapping Garcia hand. “Do you really think that we could reveal this relationship and still be able to work together?”

“Depends. Do you actually want that?”

Prentiss thought about the private jokes that they were always struggling to hide. She thought about the impulse to comfort him when he stretched himself too far during a case that she constantly had to stifle. She felt the warmth of him next to her and how it relaxed her, and how they could only indulge in it when they were completely alone. The answer was obvious and she suddenly realized that it had been for quite some time.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Well then…” Garcia sat back and radiated the sort of ‘mama bird’ pride that she had become known for over the years. “If I had any inkling that Junior Genius could’ve made you this happy, I would’ve pushed you two together a long time ago. So go for it. Hotch will come around eventually.”

“Thanks, P.” Prentiss murmured as she ducked her head to cover her watery expression.

Garcia turned back to her multiple screens and cleared her throat meaningfully. Prentiss suspected that she was feeling a little watery too. She wondered if Garcia was right about Hotch. It was a big risk for she and Reid to take, but if it worked out, the gamble would be worth it and then some. As if she had spoken her worry aloud, Garcia piped up beside her.

“ _‘Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets’_ …”


End file.
